Punishment Comes Limping
by A-blackwinged-bird
Summary: Sam's worst fear comes true when he wakes up next to a dead girl. Language and violence.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Punishment Comes Limping

**Author**: Black Wingedbird

**Muse**: Amy

**Betas**: Amy and Carikube

Standard Dis, warning for mild language and violence. No major spoilers. Season 2.

**Author's Notes**: This story would not be possible without Amy. Major thanks to both my girls for slapping me around a bit. I needed it.

* * *

Dean tilted his head and raised the cue, pointing the chalky blue end at the opposite end of the pool table. "Corner pocket."

"Impossible. You're corner-hooked. There's no way you can bank that."

Dean grinned. "What do you wanna bet I can?"

Sam watched over the top of his laptop as the big man, Bill, eyed Dean critically before retrieving his wallet from his back pocket. He spread the leather and pulled out another twenty. "Here," he said, laying the bill on the large pile already on the rail. "Let's see it, kid."

Dean matched the bet before circling the table, making a show of finding the best angle. Sam watched silently, thoroughly amused.

"Hey kid," Bill prompted when Dean came to a stop facing the far end of the table. "The eight ball's at the other end." Bill and the small crowd around them chuckled.

Dean aimed, the muscles in his biceps and shoulders standing out in stark relief under the overhead lighting. "I know," he replied simply, his entire focus on the white ball at the end of his cue. "Watch and learn, fellas."

The shot was hard and fast. The cue ball shot forward, bounced off the rail at the center diamond, ricocheted back and bounced off the side rail, then struck the awaiting 8 ball, which propelled it forward and straight into the corner pocket.

Everyone was silent.

Dean took a step back, holding the cue vertically with the handle on the concrete floor. "I win."

Bill raised his eyebrow, watching Dean gather the money with a frown. "That's some beginner's luck you got there, especially for someone who's never played this game before," he said menacingly.

Stiffening, Sam sat up a little straighter.

Dean shrugged his shoulders, folding the wad of bills in half before shoving them in his back pocket. Next to the gun. "I'm a quick learner," he replied, flashing his signature cocky grin. "Nice game though. You keep practicing and I bet you'll catch up to me in no time."

Shit. Slowly, Sam closed the laptop.

Bill growled as he started after Dean. "How bout we play a different game now, okay smartass? One that will show us what you're really made of."

The crowd murmured encouragement and testosterone filled the air.

Dean turned to face him, resting the cue against the wall. "Come on now, Bill. Don't be stupid. I can whip your ass at this game too."

"Yeah? You gonna cheat in a fist fight too?"

Sam rose, unfolding himself slowly.

Dean leered. "Cheating won't be necessary."

The crowd drew in tighter as Bill raised his fists.

Dean did the same and Sam inched forwards.

"Oh no you don't!" Ellen shouted, stomping towards them suddenly. "No fighting inside my bar. You two wanna beat each other's heads in, you take it outside. I hardly make enough to break even as it is."

She placed herself in between Dean and Bill, shoving each of them backwards. "Each of you go to an opposite corner and stay there. You two so much as look at each other and I'll throw you out of here so fast…"

The tension dissipated as Bill gathered his beer bottle, cue, and what was left of his pride. "Nobody pulls one over on me, kid," he warned, jabbing an index finger in Dean's direction. "This ain't over, you hear me?"

Dean grabbed his leather jacket and pulled it on, rolling his shoulders to make the collar stand up. "Roger that," he replied nonchalantly. "I hear ya loud and clear."

The danger gone now, Sam sat back down and watched as his brother approached. "You have such a way with the locals, have I told you that?"

"Bite me. I just got us enough for another week at that shit-hole of a motel you picked out."

"I picked out?" Sam watched as Dean took a long drink of beer. "You're the one who was falling asleep at the wheel. I merely pointed out the fact that the Pioneer Inn was just off the next exit."

"I was not falling asleep," Dean shot back, setting the empty bottle on the table. "I was blinking."

"Yeah, except your eyes were closed."

"You're one to talk, Rip Van Winkle."

Sam shook his head and opened the laptop. "More like your incessant mullet rock drives me to the point of unconsciousness."

Dean pointed a finger.

"You know, if you boys don't start playing nice, I'm gonna stop letting you in my bar." Ellen set two beers on the table and looked at them expectantly.

"What?" Dean asked defensively. "You make your living, I make mine."

"I make an honest living selling beer. You hustle old bar flies." She crossed her arms. "You're like a parasite, really. Making a living off of my customers. I should get a cut of whatever you make."

Sam smiled, keeping his head down.

"Yeah right. First I give you a cut, and then next thing you know, Sam will want one too. This is my money. I won it fair and square."

"By cheating," Sam reminded him.

"By not showing my hand," Dean corrected. "There's a difference."

Sam shook his head and deleted another useless email.

"Now, if you ladies will excuse me, there's a blonde at the end of the bar who's calling my name."

Dean grabbed his beer and sauntered away, leaving Sam and Ellen alone. Instantly, her demeanor softened. "You doin' okay, Sam?"

The question caught him off guard. "Yeah, I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?"

Ellen shrugged one shoulder, glancing back to the bar. "You look so tired lately, both of you. I think you should take it easy for a couple of days."

Sam shook his head. "No. The demon is still out there. We still don't know what his plan is. I can't let my guard down until I figure out these visions and what they mean."

"Sam," Ellen moved closer, but not quite touching. "You boys aren't in this alone anymore. We're here to help you. Don't run yourself down trying to play the hero."

At that, Sam glared at her. "It's not about being a hero," he ground out. "It's about saving people like me, stopping them from turning evil. It's about killing this bastard… getting retribution- justice- for Jess and Mom and Dad. There is no _glory_ in this job."

Ellen looked at the floor, a wistful smile barely curving her lips. "You sound so much like your Daddy," she said quietly.

A twinge of sadness coursed through him and he turned back to the laptop, blindly scrolling down the screen.

"I better get back to work," Ellen said quietly. She lingered for a moment more, then left him alone.

In one month, John Winchester will have been dead for one year. It felt like days. Sam swallowed the lump in his throat and blinked the blurriness from his eyes. Suck it up. Look at Dean; he's fine now, he's done dealing. Sam should be too. They were past that. Life goes on. What's dead should stay dead.

Suddenly remembering it was there, Sam grabbed the beer bottle and drained it. When he lowered his hand, a young woman was standing before him, an amused smile on her face.

"Buy you another?" she asked, her voice warm and enticing. Her long, wavy hair hung down to the tops of her breasts, which were displayed quite nicely with the assistance of a low-cut blouse.

Sam blinked, feeling perverted, and looked her in the eyes. "Excuse me?"

She pulled out the chair across from him and sat down, her breasts jiggling. "You look like you could use some company. Let me buy you a beer?"

Sam closed the laptop and leaned towards her. "Uh, sure. Okay."

She laughed. "I'm Nicole," she said, reaching across the table.

"Sam," he replied, shaking her warm, manicured hand. Her soft skin molded to his in a way that made him never want to let go.

When they parted, she smiled confidently, her eyes glittering as much as the oversized earrings nestled in the hair around her neck. "You're cute, Sam. What are you doing in a place like this?"

Sam swallowed and looked away uncomfortably. "Ellen, she's kind of a friend of the family…"

"So that guy you're with, he's your brother?"

Sam glanced at Dean, who was staring at him open-mouthed from across the room. "Yeah, we're brothers."

Nicole moved forward, her breasts resting on the table. "He's not at cute as you."

A heat flooded his veins and Sam grabbed the beer bottle, belatedly remembering it was empty. He set it back down. "Not many girls would agree with you."

"Guess I'm not like other girls."

Sam leaned back, uncomfortable under the strong advances. Nicole was stunning, yes- and that was probably a factor in why he was blushing so horribly right now. He coughed lightly and looked back to Dean.

Dean was giving him the 'thumbs-up' gesture, among many explicit ones.

"Look, Nicole…"

"Two beers, please," Nicole interrupted, snagging Ellen's sleeve as she walked by.

"Sure thing," Ellen replied. She did a double-take. "Do I know you?"

Nicole batted her long eyelashes. "No, I don't think so. Sorry."

Ellen studied her a moment longer, then shrugged. "Must have you confused with someone else. Two beers, coming up."

"So Sam," Nicole sing-songed, reaching out and covering his hand with her own. "What do you and your brother do for a living, when you're not hanging out in bars?"

At the bar, Ellen and Jo conversed animatedly, each taking turns studying Nicole. Sam frowned, trying to read their lips as the mother and daughter talked. It was a bar; Nicole had probably been here before. No big deal.

"Hello? Sam?" Nicole stared at him, annoyance written across her painted face.

He shook himself. "Sorry. What were you saying?"

Nicole raised an eyebrow questioningly, and then launched into an enthusiastic monologue.

In the background, Ellen and Jo were watching them warily in between pouring beers. The attention was unnerving, but neither woman made an effort to get his attention. They must not have figured out why Nicole looked familiar. Why the suspicion, then?

An angered sigh pulled his attention back to Nicole. "Look, here's my number. Why don't you give me a call when you're not so distracted." She scribbled on a napkin and slid it over to him, then pushed her chair out noisily. She looked down at him from under long, thick eyelashes. "I like being the only thing in a guy's eyes."

Stunned, Sam could only watch was she pranced away. What had he just done?

Dean smacked him on the back of the head. "Dude. What the hell is wrong with you? Did you not _see_ the ass on her?"

Sam smoothed his hair down and shoved Dean. "Yes, I saw it," he grumbled. "I'm not really sure what happened."

"What happened is that you spaced off," Dean retorted. "Never space off when a girl is rambling. That's like, rule number 2."

"And rule number 1?"

"Agree with everything they say."

"Nice. You think of those yourself?"

Nicole was with another man now, whispering seductively in his red ear. Sam caught her gaze and frowned. "She's very… friendly," he noted.

"Hey!" Bill shouted suddenly, stomping over to Nicole and the stranger. "You get your hands off her. She's with me."

The stranger straightened and Nicole slid away, back into the shadows. "Looks like she's with me now," the man shot back. "So why don't you go find yourself a whore more your speed. She's out of your league," he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at Nicole.

"I don't think so," Bill growled, going toe-to-toe with the stranger. They stood just inches apart, practically snarling. "I saw her first, _buddy_."

"Looks like she's made her choice," the stranger growled back, and the first punch was thrown.

The room exploded into a flurry of chaos and violence. Ellen rushed to break it up, shouting for help. Ash appeared and Dean leapt into action as well, trying to pull apart the fighting men. Sam was close behind.

His eyes locked with Nicole's as he approached and an overpowering sense of uneasiness chilled his blood. She was standing in the shadows, in the corner, seemingly oblivious to the whirlwind of action around her. She smiled at him, her lips wet and her eyes sharp and piercing, knowing.

Satisfied.

Someone fell against him and Sam stumbled, righting them both before the stranger took off again. When he looked back to Nicole, she was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam winced, curling in on himself to escape the pain. "Oh, shit."

He smashed his face into the pillow, squeezing his eyes shut against the sunlight. One hand came up to his temple, the other pinned awkwardly beneath his ribs. His mouth felt tacky and tasted stale. His arms ached. His stomach cramped and seized with nausea. If it were this bad now, Sam _really_ didn't want to open his eyes.

"Fuck," he whimpered and tried to massage away the throbbing in his head. Even closed, his eyes felt ready to pop out of his skull. This was no hangover. A hunt gone wrong? He couldn't remember hunting anything…

"Dean?"

Silence rang loudly in his ears. Sam listened harder, shivering under the thin sheets.

He was alone.

Of all the times for his brother to not hover, this was the worst. Steeling himself, Sam inhaled deeply. Wait, what was that smell? It was familiar, metallic and thick; all encompassing now that he noticed it. Foreboding chilled his veins.

Blood.

Sam opened his eyes and the feeling increased tenfold. This was not the hotel room he and Dean had checked into. With apprehension twisting his gut, Sam heaved himself half-way upright, resting on his elbows as he blinked away the fuzzy vertigo.

He pushed himself up into a sitting position, his elbows on his knees as he dropped his head into his hands. The mild change in altitude left him in a blind whirlwind and Sam swallowed past the nausea. When it at last subsided, he opened his eyes and looked at the blankets covering his lap.

Blood splatters stained the snow-colored linen in large and irregular splotches. Sam's breath caught in his throat as he straightened, taking it all in.

That's when he saw the hand.

It lay limply beside him; palm turned upwards, manicured fingernails caked with dried blood. An arm, smooth and tan. A delicate shoulder. Long, wavy hair, matted with dark blood. A painted face, lax and colorless in its innocence.

Nicole.

Sam leapt to his feet and tumbled backwards, banging loudly against the wall like a caged animal. She was dead; there was no question about it. So much blood, her skin so pale and greenish. Empty eyes pinned him to the spot, staring into the most private depths of his soul. He couldn't breathe, couldn't move.

Oh God.

Sam looked around the room, looked for help. His gaze fell to the nightstand beside him. A clock, an ugly brass lamp, a bible, his cell phone… and his jagged hunting scythe, coated in blood. His gaze dropped to his hands.

Covered in dried, flaking blood.

No. It wasn't possible. He couldn't have done this. He remembered being in the bar, being with Dean. Remembered Nicole flirting shamelessly. Remembered the fight. But the rest… it was blank. Why couldn't he remember anything?

"Dean?" he called again on instinct. "Dean!"

Silence echoed him, broken by the sound of his own heart racing. What happened? Where was he? Who did this?

He needed Dean. His phone. Where were his things? He would call Dean; Dean would know what to do. Dean would help him.

Numbly, Sam stretched forward and snatched the cell phone, careful to avoid the knife. Then, after casting one more look at Nicole's mutilated body, he staggered to the bathroom and shut and locked the door behind him.

Sam leaned back against the door, reveling in the feeling of solidness between him and the gruesome scene on the bed. His knees would no longer support him and he slid to the floor, coming to a stop on the unforgiving tile. He shivered again, his fist clenching around the phone, bile bubbling up his throat. He swallowed it down and brought the phone up to his face.

53 missed calls.

What? He frowned and blinked. That couldn't be right. 53 calls in one night? What the hell was going on? How? When? The pain made it impossible to think and he brought one hand to his head, rubbing at the knifing pain in his temple, and checked the caller ID.

Dean.

With trembling, blood-stained fingers, Sam pushed the 'call' button and brought the phone to his ear.

It didn't even complete the first ring.

"Sam?"

Relief flooded through him. "Dean."

"Thank God- where the hell are you? Are you hurt?"

Dean's voice was deep and sharp. Sam winced, closing his eyes. "Dean… something happened. I don't know where I am… and there's a body-"

"Sam, calm down! Tell me-"

Suddenly he was suffocating, trapped beneath a heavy blanket of fear and confusion. He crawled to the toilet just in time to throw up, violently purging his already empty stomach. His head hung low as bitter bile dripped from his lips.

Dean shouted so loudly the phone vibrated on the tile. Sam picked it up, shakily bringing it to his ear as he hung limply over the porcelain. "Dean, I think I may have killed her."

"What? Killed who? Where the fuck are you, it's been two days, Sam!"

He closed his eyes, praying his eyeballs didn't explode from their sockets. "Nicole. She's dead. My knife…"

"Nicole? Smokin' hot chick from the other night?"

He could still feel her cold, dead gaze upon him, as clear as any of his visions had ever been.

Visions.

Sam lifted his head, blinking against the bright light. That's exactly what his headache felt like, the after-affects of an onslaught of ill-fated premonitions. The pain was the same, if not more intense. Earlier… had he been stuck in a vision when Nicole was killed? Is that why he couldn't remember? Or had the demon finally found a way to use the visions against him?

"SAM!"

"I killed her, Dean," he blurted, his throat tightening painfully, staring at his hands. "It's my knife; the demon must have been controlling me during a vision. I can't remember anything, my head hurts-"

"Tell me where you are," Dean ground out. "I'm on my way, just tell me where I'm going."

Frustration swelled inside of him, pinching his throat. "I don't know," he whispered brokenly.

"Sam, stay with me. Look at the pad of paper in the drawer. Look at the back of the door, where the fire escape route is. Tell me the name of the hotel."

Sam got to his knees. "I killed her Dean. There's blood all over… I should call the cops."

"No! You didn't kill anyone, you hear me? Don't do anything- we'll figure this out when I get there."

Sam reached for the door, his hand crashing into the knob as his fingers refused to flex. He managed to get it unlocked, and the pulled it open, hitting his own foot. He stumbled around the door and seemed to float across the carpet. "This was his plan for me all along. I'm a puppet." The words resonated in his chest. The demon had gotten control. It had won.

"You are nobody's puppet but mine, Sam."

He found himself in front of the nightstand, staring at the 'Property of' stamp on the bible. His head swam. Sam relayed the hotel name to Dean and turned to face the wall, purposely avoiding the bloody corpse.

"Don't move, you hear me? Stay there, I'm ten minutes away."

Sam ended the call and the silence swallowed him. He squeezed his eyes shut and sucked in air until his lungs might burst, then slowly blew it out. It didn't help. He could still smell the blood, the faint scent of spicy perfume. His hands shook as he stared at the phone, at the dark lines of dried blood around his fingernails.

Sam brought both hands to his head, trying to rub away the pain. He should call the police but Dean had ordered him not to do anything. His mind swirled with indecision. To do what was right. To wait for his brother. She was dead. Nicole was dead. The cell phone fell from his limp fingers, landing with a soft thud at his feet. Sam grabbed his head, trying to stop the train of thought from its damning conclusions. He killed her.

As sudden wave of nausea brought him to his knees. He knelt on the thin carpeting, panting as his body rejected the lingering traces of evil in his veins. He couldn't do this. He couldn't live with himself knowing that he was a cold-blooded killer. The devil's pawn. Sam stared at the white wall in front of him, watching helplessly as his mind projected violent images of death and carnage.

His future.

Someone pounded on the door and Sam blinked, bringing the room back into focus. "Sam! It's me, open the damn door!"

Dean. Sam pushed to his feet wearily, his knees protesting from the passage of time, and made his way to the door, pulling it open just as Dean was preparing to kick it in.

Dean grabbed Sam by the shoulders, his grip tight, real. "Jesus, Sammy- thank God. Are you okay? Did you see the demon? Is it here?"

Sam heard the voice, heard the concern, but the words were blurred and muted. His brain was overloaded, shutting down. He stared blankly at Dean before saying at last, "The demon's not here. I never saw it. Dean-"

But Dean moved past him, standing at the foot of the bed. "Shit," he whispered, then glanced at Sam apologetically.

"I-"

"Stay there," Dean ordered, schooling his features. Taking control. He quickly pulled up the blankets on either side of the body, concealing her body and most of the blood. "We'll figure this out," he said, facing Sam. "First we have to get out of here. Are you hurt?"

"We have to call the cops," Sam shot back. "I have to turn myself in."

"No." Dean moved around, searching. "Did you bring anything with you?"

"Dean, I killed a person!"

"We don't know what happened," he said coolly. "Did you touch anything?"

"I killed her with my knife. The demon took control during a vision and he made me do this. This was his plan for me. It's finally happened."

Dean grabbed his shoulders, shaking him once. "Listen to me," Dean growled, "You did not do this. I don't know what the fuck happened here or where the hell you've been for the last two days, but this is not your fault, understand me?"

Sam tilted his head, noticing every line of stress and fatigue aging his brother's face. "Two days?" he asked quietly. What the hell had happened in those two days?

"Come on, let's get out of here."

They were in the Impala, speeding down the highway when Dean spoke again. "We were leaving Ellen's. We were helping her clean up from the fight, remember? We were almost done, you said you would wait outside, that you needed some air. You were only gone for five minutes, man, I swear. When I came outside, you were gone."

Sam struggled to remember but only succeeded in increasing the pain in his head. He winced, rubbing his temple. "No, I can't remember…"

And that was almost as scary as finding a mutilated body in bed next to him.

"It's okay," Dean offered, giving Sam a meaningful glance. "We'll figure this out later, okay?"

"No. I'm serious, Dean. I'm turning myself in. It'll be safer for everyone."

"Fuck safety. What happened to 'innocent until proven guilty', huh? I'm not letting you throw yourself to the wolves."

"I'd be doing what's right."

"Doing what's right would be finding out what the hell happened here," Dean snapped. He ran a hand over his head and stared at the road. "Okay, look. We'll call the cops once we get to Ellen's and report the body. Deal? That way, if we figure out what really happened and you still wanna incriminate yourself, half the paperwork will already be done."

Sam pictured the bundle on the bed, still and silent in the stark room. The police would take care of the body; see to it that Nicole's body was returned to her family. Dean was right- all he would have to do later is confess.

"Okay."

Dean smiled then, his shoulders dropping. "Okay."

As Dean urged the car to fly a little faster, Sam sat woodenly against the door and waited, absently scraping the blood out from under his fingernails.


	3. Chapter 3

The sunlight shimmered amongst the ice cubes as condensation slid down the side of the glass. Sam watched as the light was distorted, becoming bent and broken so that it was everywhere at once; in the water, in the ice, in the glass itself, always changing, never constant. Fire and ice. The two polar opposites, each one with the ability to alter the other- though the fire always seemed just a little stronger.

Sam closed his eyes, reveling in the warmth. The coldness that had been hanging over him was finally starting to lift.

"Here, sweetie. Take these."

Ellen's hand lifted from the bar, revealing from four white pills. "You look exhausted. I got a room in the back, you're welcome to it. It's got a real bed, too," she smiled, resting her hand on his shoulder. "Ash is the only one I make sleep on the pool tables."

Sam didn't have the energy to find the humor. "Thanks," he replied, "But I'm okay."

Her hand fell away. "Sure you are."

Dean shifted, leaning on his forearms. "What's the last thing you remember?"

Sam swallowed the pills and pressed his fingers to his eyelids. "I just walked outside. I was almost to the car when Nicole came up to me. She asked if I was leaving alone, if I wanted some company. I told her no, she kept pressing. And then… nothing. Nothing till I woke up next to her."

Dean's fingers drummed on the table. "There's got to be something else. Do you remember seeing anyone else in the parking lot?"

Sam tried to think back that far, but it was like walking through darkness with only a match for light. "I don't think so…"

"I'm worried about that goose egg on your head," Ellen said, handing Sam a dishtowel with ice. "I wish you'd get it checked out by a real doctor."

Sam took the ice and held it gingerly against the back of his head. Doctors always asked questions and Sam really didn't have any answers this time- at least not the kind he wanted to think about. He imagined standing over Nicole, the knife in his hand, while she struggled and lashed out. Giving him a run for his money.

His stomach flip-flopped at the image.

"You said you had a vision," Dean continued. "What was it about?"

"I don't know."

"Then how do you know it was a vision?"

"Cuz that's what it feels like," Sam snapped, glaring at Dean. "What I want to know is, why Nicole? Why did the demon have me kill _her_? I didn't even know her."

"You didn't kill her. Ash," Dean called over his shoulder. "See what you can find out about our mystery girl. See if she was in trouble, owed anybody money-"

The other man looked up from his homemade laptop. "Already on it," he replied, typing furiously as he sat at the pool table-cum-desk.

Sam pushed away from the bar, unable to leave his fate in someone else's hands. "I can help," he started, standing unsteadily.

"Sit your ass back down," Dean ordered, stopping him with a glare. "You look like shit and you probably have a concussion. I told you, we'll figure this out."

"What if it happens again?" Sam asked. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, wincing as he prodded the bump. "What if I do something else, something worse? What if I hurt you?" Suddenly Sam felt very vulnerable. What was stopping the demon from taking over whenever he felt like it?

Dean snorted, one corner of his mouth rising in a smirk. "You? Hurt me? Are you forgetting who's the big brother here?"

"Dean-"

"Don't worry about me," Dean replied. "I can handle you. It's what's going on in that freaky head of yours that has me worried."

Sam dropped his gaze to the table, staring at the glass of water. The ice was completely melted now, and a ring of condensation had formed around the bottom. He pushed the glass around, smearing the water across the polished wood. "Me too," he admitted quietly.

"Hey guys, I got something," Ash spoke up.

Sam left the pouch of ice on the bar as he and Dean gathered around him, looking over his shoulder at the computer screen. "That was quick. You could give Sammy a run for his money," Dean complimented. "You guys could have a nerd research race or something."

"What'd you find?" Sam asked, frowning as he squinted to read the small print.

"Lots of fun stuff," Ash began, running one hand through his uncombed mullet. "I ran a cross check with her name and the phone number she gave Sam the other night. It's a cell phone, belonging to one Nicole Whitbeck. Get this- I got police reports from her parent's deaths, enrollment into foster care, transferal between foster families… but this here takes the cake. Admittance into the Topeka State Psychiatric Ward, complete with doctor's notes."

As Sam struggled to comprehend that, Dean clapped him on the shoulder. "Man," he chuckled, "What is it with you and the buckets o'crazy chicks, huh?"

"How'd you find all this?" Sam asked.

Ash grinned up at him. "I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you."

Dean shifted his weight. "Alright, Stallman- just tell us what the good doctors said."

Ash turned his attention back to the screen and began reading. "She was admitted at age 12, diagnosed paranoid schizophrenic. Ramblings about monsters with claws and yellow eyes, killing her parents and then stalking her." Ash paused, glancing up at Dean. "They kept her drugged up and in a white padded room for years, trying to rehabilitate her. Multiple attempts of self-mutilation and hallucinations. This girl is seriously messed up," Ash muttered.

Ellen came around behind them, her eyebrows furrowed. "Is there a picture of her?"

Ash scrolled down a little to reveal a small, black and white photo of a young girl, no more than ten years old.

"Oh my God," Ellen gasped, her face going colorless. "I remember her now."

"You know this chick?" Dean asked incredulously.

An image flashed behind his eyes, of Ellen watching Nicole suspiciously from behind the bar. "How do you know her?" Sam asked, trying to ignore the dulling pain in his head.

Ellen sighed, ran a hand through her hair, and took a seat, motioning for them to do the same. When they were all huddled together, she explained, "Nicole lived with Jo and me for a while, years ago. She was just a little girl. Her parents had just died and she had nowhere else to go. I thought we could help her. We took her in, but we knew right away that she wasn't normal. Her behavior was… cruel. Irrational."

"Cruel like how?" Dean prompted, his expression a mix of intrigue and worry.

"Jo's father had gotten her a guinea pig for Christmas. Its name was Tinkerbell. Jo adored that thing, always dressed it up and played with it." Ellen sighed, running a hand through her hair again. "A week after Nicole moved in, Tinkerbell disappeared."

"So maybe it escaped and got stuck behind the dryer," Dean shrugged.

Sam stared at him.

"What? It could happen."

"I found Tinkerbell a couple of days later, stuffed in the trash can outside." Ellen looked into Sam's eyes. "She was cut open," Ellen forced out. "Sliced right down the belly, like a frog in a science class. Someone killed her on purpose."

Sam swallowed. He shifted uncomfortably, trying to regain his footing on a madly shifting reality. "How did her parents die?"

Ellen leaned back. "They were killed, by something supernatural."

Sam blinked as a wave of foreboding radiated outwards from his chest. "Do you know what? What happened?"

"We don't know much," Ellen said. "It came into their house at night. Nicole found her parents, mutilated. Torn to shreds. She saw the thing that did it, but was too shaken up to describe it very well. Her story changed every time." Ellen looked at the brothers, her lips thin and her eyes shiny. "She was in shock. No child should have to find their parent's body, especially an 8 year-old girl. Not like that."

Sam was suddenly on his hands and knees, gathering his father's cold and lifeless body from the floor, screaming for help.

Dean coughed lightly. "If no one saw it, how do you know it was a demon?"

Ellen looked around them quickly. "Her father was a hunter, and based on what Nicole sometimes described... But it was strange- the place had no EMF reading at all, but the wounds- no human being could have done that."

Sam shifted. "Did you ever find it?"

Ellen shook her head. "We looked- trust me, we looked. Even had your Daddy help us. But the thing was gone as if it had never existed."

Sam leaned back, taking a deep breath as he ran his hand through his hair. "Wow. Poor girl."

Dean looked at Sam. "Sounds to me like we just found the killer. Is there anything in Dad's journal about a hunter named Whitbeck, anything about a monster with yellow eyes and claws?"

Sam shook his head. He'd read the leather-bound journal too many times to count and the name was unfamiliar. "Some demons have yellow eyes, some monsters have claws. Nothing about a creature with both."

Dean looked to Ellen. "What about the house? Think we can get in there and look around for ourselves?"

Ellen shook her head. "It was a small town, word spread fast. It was demolished."

"The report said she kept seeing the creature in the hospital," Ash spoke up.

"You think whatever killed her parents was trying to get her in the hospital?" Ellen asked.

"It's possible," Dean said. "And no one would've believed her."

Sam pushed to his feet suddenly, unable to hear any more false hope. "It wasn't a creature!" he blurted, pacing, uncomfortable in his own skin. "It was me. I killed her, with my knife. I've got her blood on my hands. I had a vision- blacked out- whatever, and the demon took control. It explains the headache, the amnesia, everything. You can't blame this on a made-up creature, Dean," he panted. "It was me. I killed her."

"What the- look at this," Ash said, pointing at the screen. "Here's a scan of her journal, before they upped the meds. What the hell does that say?"

Sam stopped, running a shaky hand through his hair. He approached slowly, curiosity getting the better of him. He stood behind Dean, squinting at the small, tight, blocky letters. Line after line, perfectly repetitive as if printed from a machine. Sam rubbed his temple, massaging the soft spot. "Help me," he said quietly.

Dean looked at him sharply. "Sam?"

He pointed. "It says 'help me'," he repeated.

Dean looked back to the screen as Ellen looked up at him worriedly. "Sam, sit down before you fall down."

"I'm fine," he grumbled, lowering his hand. "Is there anything else?"

Ash clicked through the pages, shaking his head slowly. "I don't see- wait, what's this…"

It was another scan of crumpled notebook paper, this one dated years later. The handwriting was steady and loopy, more feminine than the first. Heavy, dark lines, written with purpose. "Pede poena claudo," Sam whispered. He looked at Dean.

Ash looked from Dean to Sam, confused. "Okay, and for those of us who slept through foreign language class…"

"Punishment comes limping," Sam said. It didn't make sense. "It's Latin, like saying revenge comes slowly but surely."

Ash looked just as puzzled. "Revenge for what?"

Dean straightened, like he had just found the final clue of a scavenger hunt. "Revenge on whatever killed her parents."

Sam shook his head. "No. She was crazy, Dean- who knows what she meant. She was a paranoid scitzophrenic. It was all in her head. Nothing was chasing her, nothing snuck into that hotel room and killed her. It was me. Why can't you get that through your thick skull?"

"Would you listen to yourself?" Dean snapped. "Why are you so damn eager to take the fall for this chick? Do you want to rot your life away in jail? You think you'll feel better then? What about me, you're just going to turn away from this, what we do? And here I thought you were better than that."

Dean's breath was in hot on his face but Sam held his ground. "You just can't stand the truth, can you? That I might have done something so bad, even you can't fix it. I'm not a little kid anymore, Dean. I don't need you to lie for me, to make up stories so my feelings don't get hurt. I know what I did. Maybe if I'm in jail, I won't be able to hurt anyone else."

"Bullshit!" Dean spat, shoving Sam. Ellen and Ash rose, ready to intervene. "Okay, so let's _pretend_ there are no yellow-eyed monsters. Let's say you really did kill her." Dean ground out the words with such force that it was obvious they pained him. "You're going to let the demon win? You're just going to lay down for the bastard, after everything that he put us through? Everything that he's taken from us? You're going to let him take you too?"

A picture of Jess in a sea of flames erupted behind his eyes and Sam faltered, his resolve cracking. Dad on the floor of the hospital. Mom's photographs, tattered and worn. "I don't see a way out of it," he admitted, his throat pinched and dry.

Dean seemed to grow taller then, and a ghost of a smile appeared on his face. He dropped a heavy hand on Sam's shoulder. "Just leave it to me, little brother. I'll figure something out."


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note**: You guys are making me feel so proud of this story. Thank you to everyone who reviews, and even to those who don't. Again, I'd like to thank Amy and Carikube for their outsanding guidance.

* * *

Dean threw himself on the bed and groaned, rubbing his eyes. "Ten solid hours. My eyes are burning. I don't think I've studied so hard ever, for anything."

Sam glanced at him as he dropped the duffle bags onto the second bed. "Doesn't surprise me." Dean's sarcasm and jokes fell uselessly against his leaden heart. Their research had been fruitless. There was no information about yellow-eyed, clawed demons, no information to prove Sam's innocence. Nothing to prove validate his fear, either, as Dean had pointed out- but it did little to quell Sam's anxiety. With his stomach in knots, Sam pulled the chain on the lamp, illuminating the small room. The clock on the nightstand read 11:17.

"We didn't even find anything useful, unless you count blisters and aneurisms. Oh, and a free lunch. We did get that."

Sam rolled his eyes. "You were drooling all over Ellen's bar. You were scaring away her customers. It was a pity lunch." A pity lunch that he had been unable to eat.

Dean shrugged. "Hey, I'll take what I can get, man."

Sam unzipped the weapons bag and began pawing through it. "Obviously."

Propping himself up on his elbows, Dean frowned at him. "Okay… so brooding it is. That's cool. Just trying to-"

"Don't." Sam fell still, glaring at him. "Who- I killed a girl, Dean! I was missing for two days and have no idea what happened, then I cut a girl to pieces in cold blood, you saw the body! It was my knife, her blood all over my hands-"

"Hey," Dean said, sitting up. "What happened to you almost believing it was the monsters? I thought we were making progress here."

Sam shook his head in denial and continued to search the duffle bag. "Well one thing's for sure- I'm not going to let it happen again."

"Damn straight, because we're going to hunt down the bastard that did it." He paused. "What are you doing? I just cleaned everything last night."

At last. Sam's fingers closed over the cold steel of the handcuffs and he pulled them out. "The demon could come back," he said, setting the bags on the floor. Then he sat down, facing Dean, and held out the handcuffs. "I need you to cuff me to the bed."

Dean stared at him. "Come again?"

Sam waved his hand. "Come on. I'm serious. I could kill you, Dean." His stomach twisted into a nervous lump at the thought.

Dean stared at him a moment longer, then snorted breathlessly. "No way. You need to relax, Sam. Nothing's going to happen to you, understand me? Put those away."

Sam read the lines of determination on his brother's face and withdrew his hand. "Fine. I'll do it myself." He shuffled backwards, to the opposite side of the bed, and closed one cuff around his right wrist, the other around frame of the bed. The feeling of steel around his wrist sent a shiver down his spine, but it was the only way he could be safe. When he sat up again, Dean was glaring at him.

"You've lost it, man. Seriously fucking lost it, you know that?"

"I'm keeping you alive."

"You're being paranoid," Dean shot back. "I told you before, I can handle you. Do I need to kick your ass again to prove it?" He got up, going to the duffle bags. "Where the hell is the key?"

Sam laid back, his head banging softly against the wall. He tried to cross his arms but he was stopped with a jingle of metal on metal, his right hand barely on top of the mattress. With resignation, he draped his left arm over his stomach, letting the other hang. "Don't undo them," he warned. "Not until morning. Promise me."

"Sam, what if the building catches on fire? I can't leave you chained to a bed. If you were someone of the opposite sex, and those were covered in pink fur, then I might reconsider... but you, for that reason? No."

Sam glared at him. "Take them off and I'm getting a different room, then I'll cuff myself to that bed."

Dean stopped, one arm elbow-deep in the weapons bag. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Fine," he relented at last. "But I'm holding on to the key."

Sam shifted uncomfortably. "You should hide it, just in case."

"No."

"But if-"

Dean dropped the bag and faced him, the small key flashing in his palm before he closed his fist around it. "Look- this insane little idea of yours? We're doing it on my terms. I'm keeping the key; this is as good as it gets, Sam. Deal or no deal."

The brothers glared at each other; a high stakes, who would blink first. Sam saw the tension coiled in Dean's rigid stance; the worry behind his eyes. They could argue all night on this point but Sam knew his brother wouldn't back down. Dean had reached the end of his rope, couldn't be budged. This would have to be good enough. And honestly Sam didn't want to spend the night alone with only his thoughts for company.

Sam gave the cuffs a tug, satisfied that he truly wasn't going anywhere without Dean's consent. "Fine," he said with a sigh.

Dean grinned, his shoulders relaxing. He twirled the key on his finger. "Wise decision, Sammy. I knew you'd see it my way. You know," he started, stalking around Sam in a way that a fox circles sheep. "All kinds of unfortunate accidents could happen tonight. Your hand might fall into a bowl of warm water. Fire ants could get into your sheets. I hate to see you suffer through something like that."

Sam glared. He did not need to worry about Dean and his childish pranks on top of everything else, even if they were just an attempt to lighten the mood. "Don't even think about it. I didn't do this for your amusement."

"Oh, but you did," Dean snorted.

Already a headache was forming. "Dean-"

"Alright, alright," Dean surrendered, raising his hands. "I'll be good." He tossed the key on the dresser, which was across the room and well out of Sam's reach, and lay down. He reached over, turned off the light, and said into the darkness, "Sleep tight, little brother."

Hours later, Dean was snoring and Sam was staring at the TV as Emeril Lagasse prepared roasted duck, the volume muted. A lot of shows were actually better without sound. No tell-tale spooky music to warn you of hiding serial killers, no anemic, weak-ass, pop-princess music to amp the angst factor on soapy dramas. No voices to ask stupid questions. Just the images on the screen and whatever soundtrack your mind came up with.

Sam set the remote on the nightstand and the handcuffs jingled softly with the movement. He squirmed a little, redistributing his weight, and tried to get comfortable. His head had finally stopped throbbing, but now a stress headache was beginning to take root. As long as it didn't erupt into a vision, he could live with it.

Something moved out of the corner of his eye and Sam turned sharply, staring at the window. Moonlight caused the thin curtains to glow with pale silver light, shimmering as they rustled in the breeze. Sam frowned, the hair on his arms standing tall. He didn't remember opening the window…

Dean's cell phone rang, trumpeting 'Smoke on the Water' from the depths of Dean's duffle bag. Sam turned towards the sound, recoiling when he came face to face with Nicole. Her skin was almost translucent in the moonlight, and her eyes dark and malicious. For a heartbeat Sam just stared, even his heart frozen in shock as his mind raced to discern if she was real or not. Before he could blink, she raised her arm and swung down, the glint of cold steel briefly reflecting Emeril and the duck.

Then came the pain, searing and sharp. The knife glanced off his ribs as he rolled away, tumbling to the floor in a tangle. He scrambled to his feet only to be yanked back down by the unforgiving handcuffs, jerking harshly against his wrist, pulling his shoulder. The bed jumped across the floor a few centimeters as Sam backpedaled against the wall, searching the darkness for any flutter of movement. Where was she now? His heart pounded with regret and fear as he fought the restraints, his fingers tingling.

"Sam- what the hell?" Knife in hand, Dean launched himself across the room in a blur of shadow and blue light. He just missed Nicole as she darted to the window and leapt through it with hardly a rustle of the drapes.

Dean crashed into the window frame, leaning outside, searching. "Fuck," he spat, turning to Sam. "Are you okay? What the hell happened?"

Sam had one arm clamped against his side like a broken-winged bird. "It was Nicole," he said, lifting his arm as Dean inspected the wound. "She appeared out of thin air..." Like a ghost.

Dean tossed the knife on the bed and used both hands to peel away the torn, wet material. "You're bleeding pretty good," he murmured. "Get up on the bed."

The handcuffs kept him bent over as he sat on the edge of the mattress. Sam watched Dean shut and lock the window, then grab the duffle bag and handcuff keys. He took deep, steady breaths as Dean returned, and it was then he noticed the cell phone was still ringing.

"You gonna get that?" he grunted, jerking his head towards the bag.

Dean turned on the lights and they both winced. "It can wait," Dean replied, dropping to his knees as he unlocked the cuffs. "Told you this was a bad idea."

"She's avenging her death," Sam said, rubbing his wrist as the steel fell away. "I killed her with my knife, now her spirit is trying to kill me with hers."

Dean pulled out a bottle of rubbing alcohol and some gauze. "Yeah? Since when do restless spirits wear perfume or escape through open windows? That was no ghost, Sam. That was Nicole, or at least someone who looks a hell of a lot like her."

"What?" Sam jerked more from surprise than from the bite of the alcohol. Confusion darkened his mind and he frowned. "But, she's dead. I saw her- we both saw her body. The blood and the knife… she's dead."

Dean glanced up at him. "I know the difference between a ghost and a living person, Sammy."

Sam sucked in a breath, holding it till it burned. Nicole was dead. They'd _seen_ her. Hadn't they? "I don't understand… But- if she was really here, why'd you let her get away?"

"What was I supposed to do, let you sit here and bleed to death?" Dean snapped, cleaning the wound more forcefully than necessary.

"I would have been fine," Sam replied. He flinched under Dean's scouring and ground out, "It's not that bad." Nicole was alive? But how? What the hell was happening?

"Funny, you said the exact same thing that time you broke your leg and I could see your shin bone sticking through your jeans!"

Another chorus of 'Smoke on the Water' started and Sam snapped. "Will you answer the damn phone?"

Dean glared at him before slapping a large bandage against his ribs. "Put that on," he growled, then snatched his phone and opened it. "What?" he barked, the vein in his temple throbbing.

"Nicole's not dead!" Ash exclaimed so loudly that even Sam could hear it, "I found a news story on the internet- 'Police respond to call, find life-like doll covered in goat's blood'. It says they traced the doll back to some special effects guy and they brought him in for questioning. And get this- he says a friend of his said she wanted it for a prank, and her name is not being released yet."

Dean held the phone between his shoulder and ear, prying Sam's hands away to inspect his handiwork. "Yeah, we know."

"You know?"

Belatedly, Sam peeled his ruined T-shirt off over his head and tossed it on the floor.

Dean packed the supplies back in the bag and replied, "Yeah, she just paid Sammy a little visit. Left him a nice parting gift, too."

"Well hol-ee shit," Ash whistled. "You guys okay?"

Dean glanced at Sam. "We're fine. I want this bitch's last known address, you got it? I think I'll pay her a little visit tomorrow."

"I'm on it."

Dean grunted his appreciation and snapped the phone shut.

"I'm going with you," Sam said. "If she's mixed up with the demon, I wanna know why and how. I want to know what the hell is going on."

Dean nodded, then smiled slightly. "I told you I was right- when are you going to start listening to me, huh? I told you you're not a cold-blooded killer." he said, patting Sam on the head as he moved to the second bed.

Sam frowned, smoothing his hair, trying to shift away from the pain in his side. "Yeah," he said slowly. He still had no idea what the fuck was going on, why he was being set up, and that was even scarier. "Guess I should have listened."


	5. Chapter 5

"Good afternoon, I'm Mr. Scott, this is Mr. Johnson, and we're with the Parade of Homes Sweepstakes. Is Nicole Whitbeck here?"

The seventy-something year old woman arched an eyebrow. "Who?"

Dean turned to Sam. "Well that answers that."

Sam elbowed Dean in the side. "We're looking for Nicole Whitbeck," he repeated, louder, holding up Nicole's picture.

The old woman's face screwed up. "I heard you the first time," she snapped. "There ain't no one here by that name."

Sam shifted his weight, and his grip, on the large cardboard check. "Really? She's won ten thousand dollars and this is the address she entered the contest with…"

"I said she ain't here!" the old woman said, raising her voice. And with that, she retreated into the house, slamming the door in Dean's face.

They stared at each other briefly before Sam turned away, heading towards the Impala. "So that address was a bust," he said as Dean caught up. "Nobody hides from ten thousand dollars."

"It took me an hour to make this thing, too," Dean huffed, holding out the fake check, admiration in his eyes. "It totally rocks."

Sam rolled his eyes. "We need to talk to the special effects guy."

They reached the car and Dean laid the large piece of cardboard in the back seat. "I got his address from Ash before we left."

Sam pulled open the passenger door. "Maybe he can tell us where Nicole is," he said as he ducked in the car, wincing as the movement pulled the wound on his side.

Dean slid in the driver's seat. Their doors shut simultaneously. "At least we don't have to change get-ups," he said, shrugging one shoulder as the Impala rumbled to life. "These suits were a damn good investment."

Twenty five minutes later, they stood shoulder to shoulder outside of apartment 4A, the listed residency of one Robert Tyler, special effects artist in training who made a living working on student films until he hit it big time.

"You know," Dean murmured as they waited, "These special effects guys have the coolest jobs. Like in that movie, F/X."

"Why?"

"Think about it. They work with monsters and pretty young women and get to blow shit up." He paused, cocking his head. "Oh, wait-"

The door swung open and a disheveled young man stood in the doorway, his vintage 'Jaws' T-shirt wrinkled and bunched at the top of his red sweat pants. "Who're you?" he grunted, blinking owlishly.

"Mr. Tyler," Dean grinned, flashing a fake badge. "I'm Detective Krycek, this is Detective Scully." Sam glared. "We need to ask you a few things about a doll we found with your name on it."

"What? I just got home from the police station," Robert complained, raking his fingers through his sleep-spiked hair. "Can't I at least get some sleep first?"

"I'm afraid not," Dean replied. "Someone's life is on the line here. Kinda important."

Robert sighed, looking at them through squinty, blood-shot eyes. "Yeah, alright," he relented, backing to the side. "Come on in."

Dean went in first, followed closely by Sam. Robert pointed to the couch, telling them to have a seat as he went into the kitchen area of the cluttered loft. "Mind if I grab some breakfast?"

Sam glanced at his watch, surprised to find it was only 10. He hadn't slept at all last night and his body ached, felt heavy and drained. He was running on empty.

The small, one-room apartment looked like a horror movie had exploded within the walls. Models of creatures and human heads decorated the shelves, promotional posters covered the brick walls. An unmade bed sat in the corner, and next to it, an overflowing dresser. The place obviously hadn't been touched by a feminine hand.

"So what do you want to know?" Robert asked over the tinkling of cereal pouring into a bowl.

A yellow tabby cat inched forward cautiously, its whiskers twitching as it stared at Dean with large green eyes. "Tell us what you know about Nicole," Dean said, watching the cat warily.

"I didn't remember anything else," Robert said, annoyance heavy in his voice. "You're only going to hear what I already told you." The refrigerator opened and closed, glass clinked.

"So humor us," Sam replied. "Tell it one more time."

"We love a good story," Dean added, reaching out to the cat. It arched its back and hissed, striking out with a front foot before darting away. Dean recoiled, holding his hand protectively in his lap with a look of confusion and insult on his face.

"I met Nicole a few months ago at this weapons and ammo place downtown. I needed some models for a film I was working on." He paused, daring them to argue. "She really knew her stuff, mostly about hand knives. We just kinda hit it off, you know?" He returned, sitting on the chair opposite them, holding a bowl of Fruit Loops in his lap. "We became friends. We would have the most… interesting conversations." He noticed Dean's bleeding hand. "What happened?"

"Nothing," Dean bit out, hiding the scratches under his other hand. "Interesting how?"

"She's sick, you know. She told me not long into the relationship, but it wasn't hard to figure out."

"No kidding," Dean grumbled.

Sam watched Robert start to eat. "She told you she's a paranoid schizophrenic?"

"Aren't we all?" When neither brother smiled, he continued, "Labels don't mean much," Robert replied, milk dripping from his chin. "I've met a lot of people more qualified for the title than she was. And it wasn't her fault. Those people in that hick-town institution really screwed her up, man."

Sam cocked his head. "What do you mean?"

"They used experimental drugs on her," Robert said in between mouthfuls. "Treated her like a lab rat. I guess they figured since she was underage and had no one to watch out for her, they could do whatever they wanted. It totally screwed her over. She has nightmares and everything. But good drugs, though."

Sam winced. "How did they get away with something like that?"

Robert shrugged. "People get lost in the system every day. They get buried under a mountain of paperwork and everyone's too lazy to give a damn."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "You sound like you got some repressed anger there, Robert."

Robert set the spoon in the empty bowl and looked evenly between Dean and Sam. "My brother is sitting in a federal penitentiary right now, doing life for a crime he didn't commit."

"Are you sure about that?" Dean asked.

Robert bristled. "My brother is not a killer," he growled. "He was set up."

Sam would like to think that the law officials working the case had a little more competence than that, but this conversation was about Nicole, not some family drama. "Did Nicole say what she wanted the doll for?"

Robert shrugged, setting his bowl aside. "She just said she wanted it for a prank, that's all."

"Does she pull pranks often?" Dean asked.

Robert shook his head, shrugging. "No. This is the first time. We don't get into each other's _personal_ lives much. No questions. She talks, I listen."

"She didn't happen to mention where she was staying, did she?" Sam asked.

"No. Isn't all this in the police report?"

Sam leaned back. "We're just trying to see if we missed anything."

"Nicole's cool," Robert said forcefully. "I don't know how she got mixed up in this mess. Just… when you find her, go easy on her, okay? She may be a little nuts but she would never hurt anyone. Not like this."

Dean snorted and Sam avoided his stare. "Thank you," Sam said, rising from his chair. "You've been a help."

Robert shrugged, seeing them to the door. "No offence, but I hope I don't see you again. I'm going back to bed now."

The door shut behind them and they turned away, heading down the long hallway side by side. "I think he's a little 'sick' himself," Sam murmured.

"You think?" Dean growled. He grimaced, sticking out his tongue and plucking a hair from it. "Did you see the place? All those eyes staring at me… And that damn devil cat." Dean rubbed at the dried blood on the back of his hand.

Sam opened the door and let Dean go first. "Let's go see if Ash came up with anything else."

"Hey, Sam?" Dean asked as they headed for the Impala.

"Yeah?"

"You know all those cats you see squished on the side of the highway?"

"Yeah."

"They had it coming."

o0O0o

Sam watched Dean glare at Ash.

"Come on, it is kinda funny. I mean, look at you. You could break out with Cat Scratch Fever."

Dean rolled his eyes.

"You know what I'm talking about. Pantera rocks, man."

Ellen dropped a tube of Neosporin on the bar in front of Dean. "I think you boys should stay here until Nicole is found. I don't want either of you getting hurt again. You're used to dealing with spirits, not people. She could go after Sam again."

"I've never hid from anything in my life," Dean snorted, "And I'm not going to start now, especially not from this crazy bitch. We'll be fine."

Sam kept his eyes on the laptop, searching the internet. "I can't figure it out," he sighed, his keystrokes getting harder and harder. "Punishment comes limping. Who is she seeking revenge against? The things that killed her parents? Why not just hunt them and be done with it? Why put on this big production?"

"Then why is she targeting you?" Dean asked, dropping his knuckles against the table. "You didn't have anything to do with that."

Sam shifted, realizing that the cut on his ribs still throbbed. "We should figure out what killed her parents," he said. "Maybe that'll tell us something."

"So what are you going to do, Google 'yellow eyes and claws'?" Dean snorted. "That's not much to go on, even for you two." He glanced from Sam to Ash.

"There's only one person who could tell you more," Ellen started.

"Yeah, and she's AWOL at the moment," Dean finished with a sigh. He shifted, fidgeting with the edge of the counter. "I hate waiting."

Sam closed the laptop and leaned back. "What if we could bring her to us?" he asked himself out loud.

Dean stiffened, glaring. "What do you wanna do, hang a neon sign above your head that says, 'come and get me'?"

Sam looked at the others, the idea solidifying in his mind. "Something like that."


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note**: I know you've heard it before, but thank you to everyone who read this story. The writing process is a reward in itself, but hearing how much other people enjoy my stories is a mega-huge bonus. And again, this story would not have been possible without Amy, and many thanks to Carikube as well.

Enjoy,

Emily

* * *

The Roadhouse could hold a surprising amount of people, considering its size and location. They were mostly hunters or varying degrees of secrecy but occasionally a normal, law-abiding citizen wandered in, had a few beers and an interesting conversation, and then moved on. For the most part, Harvelle's Roadhouse was a peaceful bar. 

"Dean, I'm serious- those people need our help! We have to leave, now."

"Dude, they're being haunted by a ghost with a fetish for panties. They can deal with missing underwear for one more night."

Sam stiffened, getting in Dean's personal space. "And what if the M.O. changes tonight, huh? What if tomorrow morning those girls are dead?"

Dean narrowed his eyes, meeting Sam toe-to-toe. "That's not gonna happen. Now why don't you go sit down and update your blog or whatever the hell it is, like a good little brother."

"Fuck you," Sam spat, shoving Dean. "I'm going to Columbia."

As expected, Dean shoved right back. "Go ahead; you're a big boy now. You're old enough for your first hunt." He smiled. "I'm sure you girls will have a blast, painting each other's nails, looking at pictures of Brad Pitt and Johnny Depp-"

"Go to Hell," Sam growled, then turned his back and started for the door.

"Hey Sammy, don't forget the popcorn!" Dean shouted after him.

Sam scowled and pushed open the door. The cool night air enveloped him, raising goose bumps on his arms. He felt lighter in the absence of smoke and loud music, more clear-headed. Sam made his way- slowly- to the Impala, which was parked on the opposite end of the dark gravel lot.

He heard her instantly and was genuinely disappointed in her untactful stealth. Someone should have taught her better, really.

"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. Don't you remember what happened last time you left this bar alone? Oh, that's right. You don't, what with the drugs and all."

Sam turned, trying to look off-guard. "Nicole?"

She grinned, sauntering towards him on spiked heels. She held a long-bladed knife in her fist, her bare arm running the length of her side. "In the flesh."

"I thought you were dead. Nice doll, by the way." He watched as she twirled the knife in her fingers, the blade catching the light of the moon and tossing it. "Good touch renting the hotel room in my name, too. Your trail was almost hard to pick up."

"Good, then it was all money well-spent."

She came to a stop only a foot away. "Why?" Sam asked, his attention dived between the conversation and her weapon. "I didn't even know you before the other night." The confusion was genuine.

"No, but I knew you," she said, her pupils fully dilated in the darkness. "I knew all about the great Winchester family. Your daddy was unstoppable. He was the best, or so I heard." Her voice was as sharp as the blade in her hands, and just as hard.

He still didn't get it. "I know about your parents," he baited. "How they died."

Nicole grinned again and she looked lovingly at the knife, running her fingers along the edge of it. "So you've done your homework," she purred. "Very good. Tell me, what else did you find out about me?"

"Dean and I, we can help you find the things that killed your parents," Sam prompted, stalling.

She laughed and flipped her hair over her left shoulder. "Oh, sweetie, don't you worry about the Beast of Bray, I killed it months ago. It was over way too quickly, actually. Kinda disappointing."

Sam took a step backwards, towards the Impala. "A wolf-man, impressive. Sounds like you got your revenge. What do you want with me?"

Nicole followed his movements slowly, still twirling the knife idly, somehow appearing even more threatening. "My father was a hunter, and a brilliant one at that. He ever worked with your daddy a few times, did you know that? They made a good team, so I heard."

Sam kept inching backwards, listening intently.

"So when my parents were killed, I wanted justice for them. That thing came into our house and killed my father while he slept. It was a coward, and I wanted it dead."

"What could you do? You were a little kid," Sam pointed out, his heel hitting the Impala's rear tire. "Why'd you chose _my_ dad?"

"So kids can't feel grief, can't want revenge?" she challenged. Then she took a breath. "Ellen took me in, she was nice to me. Kept me fed, bought me clothes and toys. I found your dad's phone number in her office one night. I called him, asked him for help. Word had already spread by then- funny how fast the hunter grapevine is, isn't it? Anyway, John and some others did come."

Sam leaned against the cold car, his hands splayed out on the rear fender. "Of course he came," he said. "He's- was a good man." His heart twisted a little, dripping grief into his veins.

Nicole's eyes narrowed, her face darkened. "A good man? He spent three days fucking around in the woods," she spat, her fist tightening around the knife handle. "Then they packed up and left. Said they couldn't find anything, it was just an urban legend. He gave up, went home and moved on with his life like my father didn't matter."

"If there was something there to find, my dad would have found it," Sam said, his body humming with tension.

"Bullshit! It was there, _I_ found it as soon as I was released from the hospital. Everyone thought I was crazy, but I wasn't! I killed it! I was the only one who knew the truth."

Nicole's eyes were wide and her fist clenched around the knife. Sam forced himself to stay still, to stall… "What happened during those two days? Why keep me all that time?"

She grinned a triumphant grin, revealing a row of white, shiny, perfect teeth. "Because it was fun." She reached forward, running the very tip of her finger along his jaw from ear to chin. "You're so cute when you're tied to the bed, high as a kite and helpless. Too bad you're going to die."

Sam ducked as she raised the knife and he reached under the Impala, snatching the gun. He barely had time to aim before she was on him, shoving him against the car and slamming his wrist against the corner of the roof. He winced as the gun clattered to the ground, then yelped as the tip of the knife pressed painfully against his crotch.

He watched helplessly as she bent and picked up the gun. "Oops. I think you dropped this." She grinned triumphantly, carnally, and aimed it at his forehead.

The pressure between his legs disappeared and he relaxed, despite his new predicament. "You pull the trigger and everyone on that bar will hear it," he said, confidently.

"I don't care," she growled, her finger tightening.

The sharp click of a gun cocking froze her movements. "Put down the gun and step away from my brother, bitch."

Nicole glanced sidelong at Dean, unmoving. "And if I don't?"

Dean shrugged. "Be sure and send me a postcard from Hell. I hear it's unbearably hot this time of year."

"Funny boy."

The gun pressed harder into Sam's skull. Nicole watched Dean, the triumphant grin never weakening and Sam realized she _wanted_ Dean to shoot. "You don't want to die like this," he blurted, catching her gaze and holding it. "I told you, we can help you. Put the gun down and we'll sort it all out."

"No," she replied, unfaltering. "You can't help me. No one can."

"We know about what happened to you in that hospital," Sam said. "That's not going to happen again. You can get real help. You can be normal. Don't you want that?" His voice was getting desperate; they were in a stalemate and time was running out.

"I want my parents back," she said.

Sam glanced at Dean. "No one can give that to you," he said. "Believe me, I wish it were possible."

Dean inched forward, his gun still locked her on temple. "Put the gun down, Nicole."

She blinked, tears sparkling in her eyes. Sirens sounded faintly in the distance. "If you're going to shoot me, shoot me. I can't go back to that freak show of a hospital. I barely made it out alive last time."

"You'll go somewhere else, somewhere better," Sam said softly, watching the fine tremors in her hands. It was as if they were looking at the opposite side of her now, a scared girl with serious problems. Even with the gun in his face, Sam could see she was a real person. "You need to sort things out, start your life over on a clean slate."

Dean looked like he wanted to argue, but he kept his mouth shut.

Slowly, Sam raised his hands. "I'm sorry about your parents," he said carefully. "But do you think this is what they wanted for you? Get help, Nicole. Honor their memory. Make them proud." He gently pushed her hands down, stealing the gun from her fingers and placing it against the small of his back.

Her shoulders shook, then, as Dean stepped forward and tightened the handcuffs around her wrists. "Please, just kill me. I don't want to go back there. I'll go crazy," she sobbed.

Dean looked from Sam to Nicole as the sparkle of red and blue lights appeared in the distance. "Sweetheart, you're already there."

o0O0o

Dean stretched out, lining up his shot. "Side pocket," he announced, then pushed the cue against the ball. Smoothly, silently, the eight ball glided across the table and dropped into the cup with a soft thud.

He straightened, smiling at Sam. "I win. But then again, was there ever really any doubt?"

Sam rolled his eyes and took another drink. "If you're so good at this, then why aren't you taking bets? Last I checked, we could use some extra cash." He scratched at his side, his fingers bumping over the large, raised scab. "Or has your reputation finally preceded you?"

Dean swaggered around the table, grabbing his own beer bottle. "Don't worry about cash; I made some calls to our good friends at Visa and Mastercard. And as for my reputation, it's perfectly fine, thank you." He winked at a blonde across the room and she waved coyly.

The laptop dinged and Sam turned to it, clicking on the 'one new message' button. "Check this out," he said, scrolling down. "It's from Ash, about Nicole."

"Yeah?" Dean asked, still smiling at the girl, his back to Sam.

As Sam read, his face fell. "He found an old newspaper article from the time her parents were killed. Police found the murderer, one year later. He had been killing people all over the Midwest, never left any evidence. Turns out a nosey neighbor saw him breaking into a house and reported it. Police got there just in time." Dean was looking at him now, and Sam swallowed. "It was just a guy, a regular human." He rubbed his eyes. "I guess that explains why Dad never found anything."

"So- wait. If there never was a yellow-eyed creature, then what did she kill in the woods?"

Sam shrugged. "Maybe she just imagined that too."

Dean sighed, whistling lowly. "Wow. We have got to get you some crazy-repellent."

He snorted softly, grabbing his bottle but not lifting it from the table. "Yeah. Something."

Dean stared at him. "You okay?" he asked. "You got that sad-puppy guilt-trip look on your face."

Sam looked up. "I thought my life was over," he said. "She purposely drugged me with stuff to make it seem like I had a vision. I lost two whole days of my life, completely at her mercy. I thought I was a murderer." He looked at the laptop, unseeing. "I thought the demon had won."

"The demon's not going to win, Sam," Dean said firmly. "I promise you that. I wish to God I could go back and keep you from walking out of the Roadhouse that night, but what's done is done. You won, man. You kept your head in the game and you won. That bitch is in a padded room for good, thanks to you. She won't be able to hurt anyone again."

"She can't help the fact that she's sick," Sam said. "And what those people did to her was unjustifiable."

"No, but it's her fault you went through all that. I'm not sorry that she's locked up for the rest of her life. You shouldn't be either."

He couldn't just _stop_ feeling like this, on edge and angry and just a little scared. "I still don't understand why she used _me_," he said, staring into the crowd. "She couldn't have known about my visions. And why fake her own death? Why didn't she just skip right to the attempted murder?"

Dean slammed his beer bottle on the table, effectively halting Sam. "Who the hell knows," he started, pinning Sam with a serious stare. "She's crazy. Maybe she just wanted to hurt someone as much as she was hurting."

Sam stared at Dean in awe as the words sank in, took root and grew strong. "Yeah, maybe."

Dean smiled a little and squeezed Sam's shoulder. "What do you say we call it a night? You look like shit, man. You're scaring away all the chicks."

One corner of his mouth curved into a grin even as Dean's hand fell away. "Since when has my appearance affected your ability to converse with the opposite sex? You're not going soft on me, are you?"

Dean jumped to his feet, grabbing the beer bottle by the neck. "Soft, huh? How bout I give you a black eye and toss you a bag of frozen peas? Bitch."

Dean smirked before storming off, his gait smoothing in direct relation to his proximity to the pretty blonde girl. Sam snorted, shaking his head, and raised the beer bottle to his lips.

"Idiot."

END


End file.
